Hoppy Holiday Homicide (Pet Whisperer P.I. Book 9)

by Molly Fitz

  “What?” I stopped to study him for any signs that he was joking at my expense, but his expression remained serious as he met my gaze. “How could you possibly know something like that?”

  Charles shrugged and put an arm around my waist.

  Paisley now skittered before us, leaving his arms free while Octo-Cat preferred to stay in mine and avoid the damp snow.

  “I don't know. I can just tell. Maybe it's all the time I spend with Jacques and Jillianne, now that I've become a cat owner myself, or maybe I'm just getting to know him and his ways.”

  “You don't think you can…” My voice trailed off. This question was almost too crazy to ask, but if Charles really could understand Octo-Cat’s tone when he was being facetious, maybe he could…

  “Do you understand him?” I asked, placing eerie emphasis on each word in that sentence.

  “No,” he responded, chuckling again. “I wouldn't want to, either. It’s one thing to know he says bad things about me and it's quite another to hear them for myself. Especially when we’re all trying to work together to solve the case. And especially when it's Mags.”

  Charles had come to hang out with us a couple times since Mags’s arrival and the two had hit it off splendidly—the way Charles did with everyone.

  Beyond that, I knew he just wanted me to be happy and to make sure nothing bad happened to the people I loved. He was a good guy, Charles Longfellow, III. He never wanted anyone to get hurt. That's what made him such an expert lawyer. He went the extra mile for his clients every single day.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Paisley woofed, running back toward me so fast she looked like a tiny reindeer blur on the horizon.

  I’d been so preoccupied with Charles's revelation I hadn't even realized she’d pulled ahead.

  “Mommmmmmyyyyyyyyy!” she shouted again, drawing out the word for a couple extra beats. “I smell it! I smell her!”

  “What do you smell, sweetie?” I asked, trying not to get my hopes up. Paisley always tried her best to help in whatever way she could, but her natural lack of suspiciousness made her a poor sleuth.

  The dog had now reached us and was wagging her tail so hard I thought she might fall over. Even though I knew Nan preferred to keep her Chihuahua companion dressed while she was out on the town, I decided to free Paisley of her over-the-top costume.

  She'd be much more of a help to all of us if she wasn't in constant danger of toppling over. Just like the Grinch's dog when he, too, had been dressed unceremoniously as a reindeer.

  “Thank you, Mommy,” she said with a happy sigh, shaking out her fur in the same way she did right after a bath. Hopefully, she wouldn’t start zipping around like a maniac and rolling around in a frantic blur, which were the next two steps in her post-bath celebration.

  “That feels much better,” she said, then shook again but thankfully resisted taking her happy dance any farther. “Do you want to know what I smell?”

  “I can tell you what she smells,” Octo-Cat said from within my arms, a slight purr rising from his striped form. “It's those fried potato things.”

  “Hey,” the little dog whined. “I wanted to be the one to say. I wanted to help Mommy, so she would tell me I’m a good dog.”

  “You are the very best dog, Paisley, and don’t worry, you can still tell me. Go ahead.”

  Octo-Cat had discovered this clue and chosen to keep it to himself. As far as I was concerned, Paisley was the one who deserved all the praise here.

  She rolled on the ground once and then popped back up and sang, “It's the la-la-lokis. Or the latlatkes? I forget, but Mags ate a lot of them. She gave me a little piece, but I didn't like it. I think I would've rather had a lobster roll like Octo-Cat.”

  This piqued the cat’s interest. “They do make a mighty fine lobster roll at the Little Dog Diner. Mighty fine. Shall we have another before heading home?”

  “Not the time,” I scolded him. “So you smell the food that Mags was eating just before she was taken?”

  Paisley nodded and then stumbled slightly to the side, apparently needing to get used to being out of the costume just as she’d needed to get used to being in it. “Yeah, I smell it and it's going this way.” She spun in a full circle and then ran down the alley and turned.

  “Let's go,” I said, shoving Octo-Cat into Charles’s arms because I knew he could run faster and easier with the extra burden than I could. I also didn’t want to take the chance my cat would disappear if left unsupervised.

  Nothing mattered other than getting to my cousin.

  Well, at least not to three of the four members of our little search committee.

  We all jogged.

  The Chihuahua kept moving fast but occasionally lapped us while yelling high-pitched words of encouragement. “Mommy, you can do it! You're a good runner! Yes, you are! You're a good girl! Come on, Mommy!”

  While I found her cheerleading cute, it wasn’t entirely helpful. At last, when my legs had begun to feel a bit prickly from all the unplanned movement in my tight jeans, Paisley stopped, let out a low growl, and stood with her head angled slightly toward the ground.

  Charles and I slowed.

  “Well, that was terrible,” Octo-Cat complained. “Let's not do that again. Shall we?”

  I ignored him and followed Paisley's line of sight with both my eyes and my feet.

  “Do you see, Mommy?” the Chihuahua asked, impossibly keeping perfectly still despite the obvious desire to wag her tail hard. “This spot smells a lot like cousin Mags.”

  Charles and I both bent down to examine the fallen items that were partially covered in snow.

  “That's because these are Mags's things,” I revealed with a little gasp. I lifted her fuzzy white beret, discarded cell phone, and the shiny silver menorah she'd only just purchased that morning with shaky hands.

  “Why did she leave them here?” Paisley asked with a little whine.

  “I don't think she wanted to.” I stowed all three items in my shoulder bag. “No. I don't think she wanted to,” I repeated.

  “So what do we do now?” Octo-Cat asked.

  At the same time, Charles said, “Well, this is concrete evidence, and that's always a great thing to have.”

  “But what do we do now?” I parroted Octo-Cat’s question.

  “Why, we call in the cavalry, of course,” came his response.

  I loved Charles’s ability to stay calm and level-headed, no matter how hard the going got. Even my cat had become fully invested in pursuing our case, his complaints coming out fewer and farther between. We were now working as one, and that made us unstoppable.

  Mags, hang on. We’re coming!

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charles called Nan while I called my mom.

  She picked up on the first ring. “Hey, honey. Did you find Mags?”

  “Not yet,” I answered sadly. “But we have a small lead. Can you and Dad meet us at the alley off Third Street? You know the one right next to the pancake place?”

  “Yes, we’re coming!” she promised before hanging up.

  Charles wrapped both arms around me and mumbled into my hair. “It's going to be okay. We’ll find her. Your Nan is on the way right now, and she said something about bringing along a friend to help with the search.”

  “That will be Mr. Milton,” I said, my voice coming out cold.

  “Who’s that? I don't think I’ve met him before.”

  “Neither had I. Not until today. It just seems weird, him hanging around with all that's going on.”

  “Well, maybe he really likes your Nan and wants to help in order to make her happy,” Charles offered with shrug as he let me go.

  I shook my head, unwilling to buy that, especially given his reaction earlier. “Yeah, or maybe he's the murderer we're all looking for.”

  Charles tutted. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “Yes. No… I don't know. It just seems weird to me.”

  “Well, if you're not sure about him, then I'm
not either. Maybe we can try asking him some questions when he arrives.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you talking about Nan's new friend?” Octavius asked, curling his upper lip in disgust. At least we agreed on this one. “That guy doesn't have the missing parts to kill somebody.”

  “The missing parts?” I asked in confusion.

  “Yeah, you know. The ones that boy kittens have before they go to the doctor and—”

  “I got it!” I rushed to cut him off before he could add to that description.

  “Still, he's rather suspicious to me,” my tabby added. “Did you see a picture of him on Mr. Gable's camera when you looked?”

  “The camera! That's right,” I said, slapping my forehead. We’d totally forgotten to look through the images. “I’ll just call Mr. Gable and see if he's willing to let us borrow that real quick.”

  Although the committee head was too busy to talk for long, he revealed that he’d handed the camera over to the police before begging off the call.

  “See,” Charles said, keeping his arms tight around me while Octo-Cat sat in the snow silently. “Someone's looking into it. We have lots of people helping find Mags.”

  “To be fair, I don't think Mr. Milton took Mags, but he could be the murderer. I don't know. It's just strange that a guy we've never met before has suddenly become so involved in our business.”

  Charles didn't say anything until Mom and Dad arrived a few minutes later.

  They hugged Charles hello.

  “That was quick,” he said.

  “We weren’t too far away. Just over at the ice sculpture garden with the Officer Bouchard and the others. You'll be happy to know that they have the entire Dewdrop Springs and Misty Harbor police departments both out looking for Mags while the Glendale crew continues with the double homicide.”

  “Isn't that great?” Dad said with his signature oversized grin. “The more, the merrier. Also the more, the faster we’ll find her. And we will find her, Angie.”

  I forced a smile. “Yeah, that's what everyone keeps saying. I sure hope you're all right.”

  “Faith. You gotta have it,” Dad said, his smile stretching even wider.

  “Listen,” I said, dropping my voice low, making sure only the group of us could hear. “Before Nan comes by, I just wanted to say I don't trust that new friend she's taking everywhere with her.”

  “Are you saying you suspect Mr. Milton?” Mom asked, her voice hitching unnaturally high at the end of that question.

  “I'm saying I don't know. But until we rule him out as a suspect, maybe. I mean, I don't know who he is. I don't know how well Nan knows him. Do you guys know anything about him?”

  Mom ran her fingers through her hair as she thought. “I have met him once or twice while covering stories out on Caraway Island. He seems like a reasonably decent man.”

  Caraway Island. That was the one part of Blueberry Bay I seldom went. Not just because it required a ferry, but also because they didn't have much to offer other than beautiful scenery. And while ocean views and well-groomed beaches were perfectly nice, we all had those in our small corner of coastal Maine.

  “Is there something wrong with Caraway Island?” Charles asked, hooking an eyebrow in my direction. He’d become such a big part of my life since moving here about a year and a half ago that I sometimes forgot he originally hailed from California. He didn't know all the little quirks of living in Glendale yet.

  “For one thing, the Caraway Island Cavaliers were our high school's biggest rival,” I said, ticking off the first reason on my index finger, then raising a second finger as I continued with my list. “For another, folks from Glendale often visit Misty Harbor, Cooper’s Cove, and Dewdrop Springs, and they all come over here, too. Those on the island mostly keep to themselves, like they’re too good for the rest of us or something.”

  Geographically, Caraway Island was part of Blueberry Bay, but they didn’t belong with us in any other way that counted. Perhaps that's why it felt so strange that Nan's new boyfriend—or whatever he was to her—hailed from the small, strange island.

  “I wouldn't worry about it too much, Angie. I know we all have our little prejudices about those Cavaliers, but Nan likes Mr. Milton and she's a good judge of character,” Mom offered, even though I wasn’t sure she meant it.

  “Maybe,” I said looking away and still feeling so lost and defeated in all this.

  “What else can you tell us? Has there been any progress?” Charles asked.

  And if my parents hadn't been standing right there, I would’ve given him a big fat juicy kiss as a thank you for changing the subject.

  “I’ve been staying right on the story of the murders in the ice sculpture garden,” Mom said, making her voice every bit as dramatic as Octo-Cat’s was when he was telling the story or talking about himself. “The latest is that they found the statue the ice weapon was broken from. Even though it had mostly melted by the time the police arrived, they were still able to match it to a missing piece on the sculpture of a swan.”

  “I saw that one!” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It was beautiful, and it was made by Pearl from the animal shelter. You know Pearl, don't you? Well, let me just say she was devastated that her art had been used to kill that poor woman. Especially considering that she'd known Zelda Benedict and they were friendly.”

  “Do you think Pearl might have done it?” Charles ventured.

  “Oh goodness, no!” Mom hissed, looking at Charles with shock and bewilderment. “Sweet Pearl is even older than Nan and not quite as spry. I have a hard time believing she can lift that five-pound Pomeranian of hers, let alone find the strength to first break off that giant icicle and then stab it through her friend's heart. Goodness me, not Pearl.”

  “What’s everyone talking about over here?” Nan said, approaching with her usual swagger, arm linked in that of Mr. Milton.

  “Thanks for coming so fast,” Charles said, not wasting a second now that we were all together. “We found Mags’s things spilled out on the ground here, so we know the kidnapper headed in this direction, and right now that's all we know. But it's a good place for us to start. Can you help us search?”

  “I'll get the car,” Dad said with a nod. “Meet you back here just as soon as I can.”

  “I'll get mine, too,” Mr. Milton volunteered.

  “And I’ll go get mine,” said Charles. “Angie, I'll be right back. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I nodded and accepted a quick kiss on the cheek.

  As my boyfriend ran off with the other two men, Mom and Nan closed in for a group hug. We’d always been big huggers, but we took it to the extreme when facing situations like this. Danger and drama were becoming far too common for us these days, and I hated that Mags had been sucked into that.

  “Do you guys have any theories?” I asked, knowing they probably wouldn't but still hoping they did.

  Nan tilted her head. “I still can't get over the fact that one of them was killed with an icicle and the other a bullet. That doesn't seem very well planned to me.”

  “It really doesn't,” Mom agreed. “And there's nothing to connect Fred and Zelda other than the fact they were both victimized today.”

  “There is a lot to think about with the murders, and of course I want to get justice for them. But right now Mags is what's important,” I reminded them. “Do you have any theories about her?”

  “Only that they meant to take you instead,” Nan said with a frown. “And it's not a theory I like very much.”

  “But they took her instead of outright killing her. That's got to be a good thing. Right?” Mom asked, looking between me and Nan waiting for one of us to offer up a bit of encouragement.

  “I hope so,” I said for what felt like the millionth time that morning. Until we had Mags back safe and sound, it was the only thing I had.

  Hope.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dad returned with his car first, and Charles arrived shortly thereaf
ter.

  “Okay,” I told everyone before departing, though Mr. Milton had still not returned. “We’re looking for a white cargo van. The license plate may be too muddy to read or maybe they’ve given the car a wash since then. The truth is we don’t have anything more than that. It’s a definite long shot, but right now it’s all we have to go on.”

  “Right-o,” Dad said, touching his index finger and thumb together to make the okay signal. “Let’s go get our girl.”

  I opened the passenger side door to Charles’s sedan, and Paisley hopped right in. He picked her up and placed her on the backseat while I sat down carefully and arranged Octo-Cat on my lap.

  Although my cat was much better about riding in the car now, sometimes his claws would still dig into my thighs if the driver took turns too hard or went too fast.

  As soon as I had my seatbelt pulled securely over my lap, Charles gunned it. “Which way do you want to turn?” he asked me, moving us along quickly toward the main road.

  All I had now was intuition and what I hoped might turn out as lucky guesses. For whatever reason, something tugged me toward the left.

  We drove slowly through the well-trafficked areas while scanning every parking lot for a sign of our white van.

  “This isn’t going to work,” I said after a ten-minute period that seemed to drag on for an eternity. “If they were smart enough to orchestrate a kidnapping, then they’re smart enough to get the heck out of Dodge.”

  “Maybe,” Charles agreed, continuing to maneuver the streets of Glendale unperturbed, “but we still have to try.”

  “You’re right, you’re right,” I said, continuing to search in silence.

  Octo-Cat surprised me by pressing his two front paws to the base of the window and joining our search. His fuzzy little head whipped back and forth with determination. Would he be the one to find her?

  If we were still searching after dark, he likely would. After all, he was the only one of us who could see well in the dark.

  Oh, how I hoped it wouldn’t come to that!